NOTE: This was a subscribers-only email that got me my largest number of complaints so far. If you’re not a subscriber yet, just sign up here. I write emails like this one regularly, most days in fact.

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So I figure that one of the worst jobs in the world has got to be the job of the fluffer.

A fluffer works on adult film sets. It’s their job (I’m using a gender-neutral pronoun, as both men and women get to do it) to keep the male talent “on form” in between takes.

A fluffer keeps the star of the show excited, but doesn’t give him any satisfaction.

Me:“Yes, you can hire me privately and we can talk whenever you want. That starts at $1500 a month.”

Him:“Right, but I was hoping to get more calls for $97 a month.”

Me:“We could arrange that, too, so long as you’re not fussy about WHO you speak with. My three-year-old will sing ‘5 Little Monkeys’ down the phone at you for HOURS if you want. I can let you have that for free.”

Of course, the conversation didn’t go exactly like that. But it should have.